


Is a gift, my dear, from me

by liketogetlost



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 05:31:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liketogetlost/pseuds/liketogetlost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't long until he was scratching his palms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Is a gift, my dear, from me

_She is  
That exquisite maze_

_Leaving you clues  
So you can find your way lost  
Over and over again_

 

Somehow, there is something her in every him.

\--

He's developed an affinity for hand holding.

That is, a very specific type of hand holding. The type done with one Rose Marion Tyler. Who might hit him and and definitely will those early mornings when he wakes her with tea and toast by calling her by her middle name and, in fact, for waking her at such ungodly hours.

“Time doesn't pass for me like it does for you.” He'll eat her toast while she sips the tea, extra hot with three sugars and milk, hair a right tangled mess and eye make-up smeared. 

“And it doesn't pass for _me_ like it does for _you_ , so take the toast and come back in two hours.”

But about the hand holding. Once Rose went off alone during a walk in a particularly inviting alien market to look at jewelry while he and Jack hit the tech stores. It wasn't long until he was scratching his palms.

“Got a tic, Doc?”

“What?” He pushes his hands deep into his pockets and shrugs. “Itchy, is all.”

Jack smiles knowingly, shaking his head down at a bit of talking stationary paper. 

When Rose comes back, he'll use her new ivory bracelet as an excuse to take her hand. 

“Pretty.” He'll say, and her palm against his own will soothe the itch.

\--

His tongue tends to tingle these days.

Never much of a sweets man, besides the occasional call of the Jelly Baby, the Doctor's found himself craving the most sugary of foods.

“Where's the jam?” Rose calls from the kitchen, technically the galley but he allows for such mistakes from such gorgeous creatures like herself, and eventually bounds into the console room when he doesn't respond.

“Out.”

“Biscuits?”

“Gone.” 

The Doctor continues, as he does, to fiddle with the green and red wires while Rose puts her hands on her hips. “Ice cream?”

“Strawberry or Chunky Monkey?”

“Chunky.”

“Nope.”

“Strawberry?”

“Ah. No.”

“Doctor! You eat all the junk food before I ever have a chance to get to it! We buy more groceries than two people should be allowed.” She narrows her eyes at him. “You're not trying to tell me I'm gaining weight, are ya?”

He pops his head around the pillar and gapes. “What?! Rose, if you were gaining weight I would not say a word.”

That wasn't right, he can tell.

He slinks his way over to her and takes her round the waist, pulling her close. “What I mean is, for one I am more than happy with whatever amount of weight you have on your frame, because it's perfect no matter what and oh.” His hands grip her bottom and she giggles into his chest. “I do love your curves. However you have not gained weight, and I am in no way trying to silently tell you such a thing, I've just developed such a sweet tooth that nothing seems to sate it.”

Rose pouts a bit before grinning at him. “Well, just save me a bit of strawberry next time, yeah? That new new tongue of yours is just greedy.”

“Oh yes, and quite mischievous, as well.” 

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.” There's some ducking and leaning, and Rose tries to pull away before the Doctor finds her neck with his mouth, teeth, and rebellious tongue. 

Later, in bed, after he's gone out and bought more ice cream and found it's sated neither of them, he'll realize just how sugary sweet the taste of Rose Tyler's skin is and how after he's guided his hungry tongue across every delectable inch he feels quite satisfied indeed.

\--

Some things stick with him, some things do not. Others seemingly come out of no where. Each man has his own quirks and tastes, dislikes and cravings. Somehow, though, he always seems to be made for her one way or the other.

One day he'll be walking along and glimpse a beautiful blonde that makes his feet turn him twice around in a circle. She'll grin at him with teeth teased by a tongue that makes his knees shake with the memory of its touch and she'll quirk an eyebrow at him. Like maybe she knows who he is, or will know one day, and nod at him.

“I like your style. Bow ties are cool.”

He'll watch her walk away, hearts racing inside his chest and try to think of something to say in return. But maybe he won't because he's too afraid of crossing some thin ticking line or maybe he won't be able to because she'll already be gone in a flash of blue lightening.

But the electric buzz of her will echo in his veins.


End file.
